Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net warm By ROBERT SHECKLEY _It was a joyous journey Anders set out on ... to reach his goal ... but look where he wound up!_ Illustrated by EMSH Anders lay on his bed, fully dressed except for his shoes and black bow tie, contemplating, with a certain uneasiness, the evening before him. In twenty minutes he would pick up Judy at her apartment, and that was the uneasy part of it. He had realized, only seconds ago, that he was in love with her. Well, he'd tell her. The evening would be memorable. He would propose, there would be kisses, and the seal of acceptance would, figuratively speaking, be stamped across his forehead. Not too pleasant an outlook, he decided. It really would be much more comfortable not to be in love. What had done it? A look, a touch, a thought? It didn't take much, he knew, and stretched his arms for a thorough yawn. "Help me!" a voice said. His muscles spasmed, cutting off the yawn in mid-moment. He sat upright on the bed, then grinned and lay back again. "You must help me!" the voice insisted. Anders sat up, reached for a polished shoe and fitted it on, giving his full attention to the tying of the laces. "Can you hear me?" the voice asked. "You can, can't you?" That did it. "Yes, I can hear you," Anders said, still in a high good humor. "Don't tell me you're my guilty subconscious, attacking me for a childhood trauma I never bothered to resolve. I suppose you want me to join a monastery." "I don't know what you're talking about," the voice said. "I'm no one's subconscious. I'm _me_. Will you help me?" Anders believed in voices as much as anyone; that is, he didn't believe in them at all, until he heard them. Swiftly he catalogued the possibilities. Schizophrenia was the best answer, of course, and one in which his colleagues would concur. But Anders had a lamentable confidence in his own sanity. In which case-- "Who are you?" he asked. "I don't know," the voice answered. Anders realized that the voice was speaking within his own mind. Very suspicious. "You don't know who you are," Anders stated. "Very well. _Where_ are you?" "I don't know that, either." The voice paused, and went on. "Look, I know how ridiculous this must sound. Believe me, I'm in some sort of limbo. I don't know how I got here or who I am, but I want desperately to get out. Will you help me?" * * * * * Still fighting the idea of a voice speaking within his head, Anders knew that his next decision was vital. He had to accept--or reject--his own sanity. He accepted it. "All right," Anders said, lacing the other shoe. "I'll grant that you're a person in trouble, and that you're in some sort of telepathic contact with me. Is there anything else you can tell me?" "I'm afraid not," the voice said, with infinite sadness. "You'll have to find out for yourself."